


Like a Virgin

by nevercomestheday



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Betrayal, Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:23:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevercomestheday/pseuds/nevercomestheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want to believe. You do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick, painful oneshot I felt the need to write today. 
> 
> Characters do not belong to me, they belong to Quentin Tarantino.
> 
> Enjoy <3

Of course you know him, you've known him all your life.

 

He's in everyone and everything, he's everywhere you look, and though you never noticed it before, he's always been there in everything around you.

 

He's the driver who lets you into his lane, the pleasant stranger offering his taxi when you're visibly hurried. He's in the sunshine that warms your face after a downpour; he's the locks on your doors and the safety in your overcoat.

 

His smile is in every white, puffy cloud, his molasses voice in every song.

 

You've been in love with him your entire life. You just hadn't met him until today.

 

And God, what a day it was. He shook your hand and you felt like a live wire, sparks shooting through you, sending shockwaves through your system. You looked at him and it was like opening your eyes for the first time.

 

He laughed when you told your story, smiled at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

 

Clearly, he's never seen his own reflection.

 

All you want is to learn his name, taste the sweetness of it on your tongue as you repeat it in your sleep.

 

Larry.

 

The first time you kiss him reminds you of the first time you tried a candy bar. Everything is sweet and smooth and the feeling of his hand cupping your chin makes you weak in the knees.

 

Making love brings new meaning to the phrase. You've had sex before, but all your previous experience flies out the window the moment he touches you. You start to understand Madonna's song a little better, if only because you've never felt more like a virgin than you do in his arms.

 

Every part of the relationship is tender and meaningful, full of innocence and passion. You know you shouldn't be in bed with him, literally and figuratively, but you're so drawn to him you're considering quitting your job. The job you always wanted growing up, you're willing to drop at a moment's notice, should he offer to take you away.

 

And he does, he paints beautiful pictures in your heart of your future together. It tears you apart, breaks your heart into a thousand pieces. He truly believes after this heist, this last job, you'll run away to Mexico together.

 

You want to believe. You do.

 

The week before the job, you're lying in his bed, catching your breath and listening to the pounding of his heartbeat. You tell him you have a bad feeling about this heist; that's one way to put it. He chuckles, chalking it up to young nerves. Please, you beg, let's just run away now.

 

He just kisses your head and tells you to wait.

 

Everything has gone wrong, the plan tossed out the window as you bleed in the backseat of a stolen car. Of all the cars, of all the sides to try, of all the times to be shot, it had to be this one. It had to happen this way.

 

He's holding your hand, trying to calm you, but all you hear is screaming. It's you. This realization shakes you to your core. You're dying. Oh God, you're dying.

 

He lays you down as he's done a hundred times, only this time it's on a warehouse floor instead of his bed, and you're bleeding out.

 

He goes to comb your hair, wipes sweat from your brow and looks into your eyes. Is he crying? He's crying. You've never seen him cry before. You've been crying for twenty minutes, but you're also shot in the gut.

 

He's seen you cry once before, when you told him you loved him for the first time. The sight of his tears hurts like another bullet wound.

 

Suddenly he's gone, and you must've been passed out. When he returns, his first instinct is to run to you. He doesn't even notice the body by the doorway.

 

They've found out you're a rat, but he doesn't believe them. You keep your denial and he defends you, cursing his boss. He's known Joe for years and years, but he doesn't hesitate to draw his gun on him when he threatens your life.

 

You're both bleeding, you've been shot again, and he's still making his way up to hold you. He's just killed two people he's known and worked with for at least a decade, all to protect you. You know you don't deserve it.

 

You're a fucking rat.

 

"Looks like we're gonna do a little time," and your heart shatters. You know you couldn't survive at this point anyway, and he probably does too, but he's still clinging to his hope for your sake. The cops are coming, you can hear the sirens, and he's got his gun in hand, ready to shoot anyone who tries to hurt you.

 

He strokes your face and you choke it out. You're a cop. You're a cop and you're sorry, you're more sorry than you could ever imagine anyone on earth being.

 

The sound he makes is agonizing, and when he puts his gun to your cheek, you're almost relieved. You want him to strike the final blow. It's the only way to make this fair.

 

He knows the police will kill him, and that's why he waits until they walk in to shoot you. You're delirious with pain and blood loss, but just before he pulls the trigger, it hits you.

 

He wants to die. He wants to die with you.

 

So you do.

 

 


End file.
